Clad in Moonlight
by miss selah
Summary: Jaded!Kagome; She couldn’t love him with all her heart. You had to have a heart to do something like that.


**-Edit October 27th, 2009: Repost. Please don't let this be a marker for the quality of my work, it was written many years ago and is now reposted because in the fall of 2008 someone hacked my account and deleted most of my stories. - **

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Clad in Moonlight

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They always meet there, at that place beneath the moonlight, because that was the first place that they met and he had always been a bit of a traditionalist, and she had never been able to do other than his will.

The first time it was a coincidence.

The second time it was an accident.

The third time had been a mistake, but she wasn't going to complain. Not now. Not ever.

He is buried up to his balls in her, reaming her senselessly and she's smiling, taking it, because they have done this enough times now that she is used to him, used to feeling him inside of her, and she is willing to accommodate him because somebody has to, so why shouldn't it be her? Besides, she had a growing fondness for him, certainly more than she did for anyone else that she knew, so why not? It wasn't as though he was hurting her, not with those calloused fingers that tried and failed to work like poet's fingers over the catchings of her dress. He would give up anyways, in a moment, and rip the offending clothing off of her body in a moment anyways, and Kagome was getting tired of buying new bras all the time.

"Woman. . ." he hissed out, splaying his fingers across her back, making her arch and mewl like a kitten for him. He wasn't a poet, not with his hands and his way of words, but he might have been a musician, and her body might have been his instrument. He certainly knew how to pull a dozen, two dozen, four, sounds from her throat, knew exactly which place to touch to make her mewl and scream and hiss.

He had certainly spent enough time studying her to have found them all out.

"I burn for you."

She probably loved him.

He thrusted deep inside of her, and she cocked her hips expertly, smiling wickedly when he hissed and shuddered. He was passionate, that was to be sure, and she knew that the only reason anyone would have any reason to doubt her would be because she was the only one he ever cared to show his passion to.

He had made it clear, that first night in the clearing in the moonlight, that he had no heart to give her. He had no love to share. It was to be a relief for the both of them, and they were to seek solace in each other's body's and nothing more. They were allies, he had told her, and weren't allies supposed to turn to each other in times of need?

If she hadn't wanted him so badly, she would have smirked off the blatant come on.

But she had wanted him.

Needed him.

_Craved _him.

Or at least, something like him.

In the end, though, he hadn't been a poor substitute; rather, he had been the catalyst for making her wonder what she actually wanted at all. With Inuyasha dead, she couldn't ask him. With Sango and Miroku gone, off on their own to find jewel shards without the help of the quite obvious third wheel and Shippo in the village because war was no place for a child, she certainly couldn't ask any of them. Besides, they wouldn't have known what she wanted.

They hadn't even known what _they _wanted.

Which was why the untimely death of Naraku, having choked on a chicken bone, had left them all so shocked. Which was why, even though she knew it was her duty to gather the last few shards, she had been so tempted to just put it off forever, as long as she could stay in a place like this.

Clawed fingers toyed expertly with her clit and Kagome gasped, gushing around him.

He had told her the first time that he had no heart to offer her, but he could offer companionship.

He told her the second time that he had no future to promise her, but he could offer tonight.

He told her the third time that he would pluck the stars from the sky and put them back in her eyes, where they belonged, if she could smile the way she used to.

Tonight, as the world came around them, he told her he loved her.

Kagome's orgasm died a quick death at his words and she looked at him, shocked. It was the orgasm talking. It had to be. There was no other reason why he would say something like that, not when he knew that it wasn't _him _who didn't have a future, but her, and not when he knew that he _could _in fact promise forever; it was _her _that was lacking in that department.

Still. . . beyond the haze of lust in his eyes there was something deeper, something more powerful, something that humbled her as she looked upon it.

She cursed him inwardly. Why couldn't he have done this sooner, when she was still a naïve little girl who believed that the answer to the world's problems was in a shining pink jewel, when really that was almost all that the world's problems were?

Why did he have to tell her at all?

Though it a little more of that mangled soul that resided inside of her, Kagome smirked viciously. "How can you love someone, Sesshoumaru, when you don't have a heart?"

Sesshoumaru was quiet as he held her there, flaccid but still inside of her. His eyes hardened dangerously but Kagome knew he wasn't angry at her, he was angry at himself.

"Of course you're right, Kagome. Apologies, I was caught up in the moment."

He climbed out of her and she nearly whimpered at the loss of his warmth. She was becoming used to this isolation though; this cold place where emotions couldn't thrive.

He had been wrong, when he said he didn't have a heart. If he didn't have a heart, then she wouldn't have been able to see it breaking in his eyes. It was _her _who didn't have a heart, because she watched him die a little bit inside of her every time that he came and realized that this might be the last time, and that even if he were to just bring someone with such a fragmented soul back from the dead, he couldn't keep doing it forever. She didn't have a heart because if she did, she would leave him, turn him away to live in her isolation until the end of her days.

He could love her. He could turn his lie in to a truth by giving her his heart, but she wasn't about to let him do that. He was too beautiful, too strong, to be crushed by something as insignificant as humanity. Still. . . she wouldn't mind holding that warmth to her for a little while, even if she could offer no heart in return.

He held her that night, even after she shunned him, and wrapped his entirety around her, keeping her warm. It was like a drug, and when she closed her eyes she could almost remember the swatch of blue light that she had felt before she had lost her tether to her future. Her home was where her heart was, and that was far beyond either one of their reaches. Still. . .

If she couldn't love him with all her heart, perhaps she could love him with what tattered remains there were left of her soul.


End file.
